


Penitence

by CopperBeech



Series: The Education Of Mistress Aziraphale [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Confessions, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), F/F, Femme Aziraphale (Good Omens), Femme Crowley (Good Omens), Femslash, Gratuitous Smut, Guilt, Ineffable Wives | Female Aziraphale/Female Crowley (Good Omens), Light Dom/sub, Mild Painplay, Nipple Clamps, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Porn with Feelings, Sex Toys, Sexual Fantasy, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:28:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25886581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CopperBeech/pseuds/CopperBeech
Summary: Crowley, as Nanny Ashtoreth, has a discussion with her angel about a particular sort of forbidden fruit.“Ah. So innocent. Did y'teach them, or'd they already know?”“I – ah. Some of them did things. With one another.”“But pretty Sister Aziraphale denied herself.”“They were novices – I had so much power over their lives, I oughtn’t even to have even kissed them – ““Look at the way you tremble, thinkin' about it.”
Relationships: Nanny Ashtoreth/Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Series: The Education Of Mistress Aziraphale [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1882369
Comments: 24
Kudos: 102





	Penitence

**Author's Note:**

> More sentimental filth, riffing off a throwaway line in [Faith](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25737730), my first femme!Aziraphale fic.
> 
> TW: This fic involves _zero_ description or implication of actual sex between persons of unequal agency (in this case, a senior nun and junior nuns or novices). Sister Aziraphale feels lingering guilt about her past attraction to novices "of marriageable age," given no choice about dedication to the religious life, even though she did no more than exchange kisses. But there is brief fantasy that might be upsetting if clerical abuse or a power gap is a trigger for you. Take care of yourself and remember: if the fic makes you squick, you don't have to stick.

“It’s not that they were all that young, Crowley – “

“You’ll address me as Nanny.”

Aziraphale drops her eyes. “Yes, Nanny.”

“Go on.”

Nanny’s unfastening the white covered buttons of the boned camisole one by one, feathering strokes over the swell of round, heavy breasts as she exposes them. Aziraphale’s doing her best to hold still.

“They’d have been married already if they’d been, well, marriageable. Probably having children for some petty prince. But you remember how it was, families with too many daughters – they hadn't really _chosen_ Holy Orders, they were lonely, and they were drawn to me – “

It's the first time they've been in female corporations together, and Aziraphale didn't expect it to bring back the cloister so vividly, nor to open wide a little keepsake box of vague shame and guilty imaginings that's been stuffed away for centuries. Nanny's not going to leave it be. She's remarkable that way, always ferreting out the thing you want to pretend away. No wonder she managed so well with Warlock.

Nanny reaches the last button and drops the straps over the soft, solid shoulders. The camisole’s embroidered all over, white thread on white, so that it hangs a little stiffly to each side. It doesn’t fall away because Aziraphale’s hands are crossed behind her back.

“And d'ye think that was wrong?” Nanny cups the underside of one breast in a small, dark-nailed hand, lifting it a little.

“It would have been wrong to take _advantage.”_

 _“_ You wanted to.”

The blue eyes close briefly. The nod’s almost imperceptible.

“You said some of 'em kissed you.”

“A little.”

“Show me how.”

Nanny brushes the curve of each breast with light fingertips as she bends in, brings lips to lips. Aziraphale’s trap her underlip gently, tongue-tip barely tracing.

“Ah. So innocent. Did y'teach them, or'd they already know?”

“I – ah. Some of them did things. With one another.”

“But pretty Sister Aziraphale denied herself.”

“They were novices – I had so much power over their lives, I oughtn’t even to have even kissed them – “

“Look at the way you tremble, thinkin' about it.”

It’s true, a fine tremor ripples now and again through Aziraphale’s body as they speak. Possibly it’s because she’s been kneeling motionless on her bed for most of the last half hour, feet touching beneath broad buttocks, thick thighs spread far apart, obeying Nanny’s command not to move unless ordered. A wisp of lace knickers cuts a slight groove in the flesh high on either haunch.

“Nanny will help you confess then, and expiate.”

They’d made a shopping trip earlier – Nanny in smart, sharp black suit and red blouse; Aziraphale in a modest blue-and-white poplin dress, itself only a stone’s throw away from a nun's habit. Unlikely customers, if there's any such thing, for one of Soho’s erotic emporia. Even there, the angel had luxurious tastes. Nanny opens a small box with gilt lettering, lifts a finger to one lavender-pink nipple, circling it slowly until it tightens into a fat, hard bud; rolls and pulls it out, holding it in a tight pinch as she bends to touch her lips to it.

“Oh, perfect,” she breathes, and brackets it with the flat ends of a tweezerlike clamp, adjusting a slide until it _might_ hurt, if, for example, someone tugged on the attached chain. Aziraphale hisses in a breath as she feels Nanny rub her thumb over the bulging tip.

“You'll remain kneeling. You'll keep your hands crossed behind you. Obey and there will be no need for actual restraint.”

“Yes, Nanny.”

She uses a raking nail to outline the other nipple, flick it with several stinging thumps before tugging it into hardness, this time with a little twist.

“Give satisfaction with your answers, be honest, and Nanny will be gentle.” She demonstrates as she settles the other clamp, the pad of one finger soft against the darkening knot. “Disappoint or evade, and Nanny'll _pull._ ”

“Yes, Nanny.”

“If you’re _very_ good, you’ll get a kiss.”

“Thank you, Nanny.”

“But whatever I do, you’re not to let yourself come unless I say you may. Until I think you’ve confessed properly.”

The tremor’s audible in her breath now, and she decides to nod again instead of speaking. Nanny gives the gold chain a little tug. “Let me hear you.”

“Yes, Nanny.” Very soft, almost a sigh. Nanny’s finger remains resting on the chain.

“What did you want to do with the novices?” There’s only the slightest movement of the finger.

“Their –– their breasts were so soft. You could feel them under the habit sometimes when – when we exchanged the kiss of peace. Some of them would press -- very close. I didn't expect I'd think about kissing them there too.”

“Show Nanny how you'd have done it.”

The jacket and blouse have come off to expose an undergarment that leaves her tiny breasts uncovered almost down to the nipples, darker shadows under black lace. She trails the finger of her free hand across them, and Aziraphale dips her head, blonde curls falling forward, to graze the faintly freckled skin with lips that seem to be recording the texture, a tongue that lingers on one spot and the next.

“And their mouths? How did you _want_ to kiss them?”

Aziraphale’s silent a moment, gasps softly at a little tug.

“When they – took the wafer at Mass. Opening for it so meekly. I’d see one who’d kissed me a little -- more than necessary, taking the Host on her tongue…”

“Mm, wanted to suck it away, did you? Sacrilege, Sister Aziraphale.”

“There’d be fast days, and I’d remember the candied fruits I kept in my cell. Imagine passing one from my own mouth to – one I’d seen trying to sneak a little food. Instead of, you know, assigning penance. They came from good enough homes, they weren’t used to empty bellies.”

“Yes. Pampered young women with soft bellies. Did you want to touch them there?”

Her throat’s thick, it’s hard to tell whether with shame or arousal, and color’s risen in her cheeks. “I –– yes. Sometimes.”

“Feel the hair on their cunts? Shape of their bums?”

Aziraphale almost moves a hand as she nods in answer, stops at Nanny’s warning tug.

“Did it make you wet between your legs?”

There’s the faintest rocking movement of her hips, her eyes no longer just downcast but closed. Very softly: “Yes.”

“Is it making you wet now?”

“Yes.” A whisper.

“Let Nanny see.”

Nanny eases a dark-nailed finger inside the twist of lace between the angel’s legs, slides along the folds trapped underneath.

“Oh, Sister Aziraphale. You wanted to touch them very much, didn’t you?”

Nanny’s finger is making a thorough exploration, sliding and stroking before pulling the thread of fabric to one side. Her thumb runs over the short curls.

“It was such a long assignment. Months. I had – a succession of blessings to deliver. I was meant to help them embrace their vocations, comfort them...”

“You could have comforted them like this.”

“It wouldn’t have been right, C – Nanny.” Aziraphale invokes the desperate protest: "Some of them had already said their _vows._ "

Nanny’s humming, spreading the slick over plump lips.

“Did you want to touch them here? Taste them? Know how you love anything that’s good in your mouth.”

“I – didn't dare even imagine -- “

“Making one of them come? Like this?” Nanny’s stroking a slippery fingertip across the hood of what’s become a stiff, protruding little nubbin, side to side, lightly, over and back and over again. “I’ll go on. As long as you keep telling me what you _did_ want to do.”

“I’d – there was Johanna, she was old to be unmarried, you remember how there were places where they thought gingers were bad luck – “

“But _you_ didn't.”

“I’d think about finding her in the scriptorium. She had a gift, she worked into the night sometimes, I came on her asleep over her manuscript once – “

The finger’s still stroking, lightly, teasing over the tip of the small bud. ”Remember you’re not to move.”

“I could have looked for her there between Vigil and Matins, no one would have known. Wake her up with a kiss, let her lie back against me. So I could reach her breasts. Play with them."

"Would she've let you do that?"

"One time I thought she -- ah -- yes."

"Do you think she'd've let you do what I'm doing?"

"I. Think maybe. She always wanted to talk to me, touch me – she touched everyone, the Prioress boxed her ears over it... I know some of the women there were in love with her.“

The angel tries to master a deep shiver, because Nanny’s apparently very pleased with her confessions, and a tongue with just the slightest split at its tip is flickering over one trapped nipple, then the other.

“D'je ever catch 'em doin' anything? Together?” The fingers stroking more slowly, more deeply, trailing back along the underside of the hard little peak.

“I - ah.” Aziraphale’s breaths are shallower, shakier. "Not really but -- I'd listen at night for anyone who was crying. A small blessing could do so much. And. I heard Johanna once, with Irmgard. She had the sweetest voice in the choir, you wouldn’t mistake it.”

"What were they doing?"

"I don't know but -- loving each other somehow. Trying to be quiet. Little sounds that weren't sleep sounds."

“Did you touch yourself?”

“I – I just listened. It felt wrong but I couldn't stop -- imagining I was the one with her.”

“Would you've done something like this?”

It’s two fingers now, sliding between the slick lips, in to the last knuckle and out with glacial slowness.

“Made her want you to keep touching her? Put your mouth on her?”

The chain tugs when she doesn’t answer, and she stutters out a sharp little cry.

“Licked her there in the dark while she covered her sounds with her hand?”

It’s all Aziraphale can do to stay still. Nanny relents.

"It wasn't just the novices who were lonely, was it, angel?"

A long pause. Almost inaudibly: "No."

The hand slips out from between her legs, lifts her chin. “You were good to them. And you've been good for Nanny. You’ve earned a kiss.”

The feeling of soft cheek against soft cheek is delicate and different when Nanny kisses her, but it’s still _Crowley,_ avid and languid at the same time, the divided tongue tasting and smelling at once.

“You might've learned there in the priory, with the novices. But now you've got Nanny to help you find out how women make love with each other.”

Nanny favours suspender belts and the kind of old-fashioned stockings that have dark tops and a visible weave, with seams in the back. The small red satin bows on the Brussels lace of the belt clash a little with the auburn hair exposed as she settles onto her side.

“You’ll watch me touch myself. And I'll watch you. So we’ll both know what we like.” At a tentative movement she repeats, “ _Not_ until I say.”

The finger that’s just been buried in Aziraphale dips between Nanny's legs, slides back to meet her thumb. They press her apart a little, pinch up the skin over her clit.

“You try that. … Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“You’ve already made me so – so eager.”

“Think've Gabriel, it’ll slow you down.”

“That’s dreadful, C – Nanny.”

“Nanny’s not at all dreadful. Look what she’s showing you.” The rounded, dark nails are stroking through the ginger curls now, tugging a little, teasing up towards her navel. “Touch yourself like that.”

Aziraphale huffs a breath as her fingertips rake lightly up the swell of her belly.

“Play with the chain. I want to see how you do it.”

Nanny’s pinching her own nipples lightly as she watches.

“Is that as good as you hoped?"

“It’s – ah – very good.”

“They’re so swollen. They’re going to be sore. You’ll like that, won’t you? Remembering what I did with them.”

“Yes – ah – Nanny.”

“Finger yourself. Pretend it’s one of those sweet ladies in the wimples. Reaching under your habit in the garden shed. Touching you in the kitchens. Sayin' a Paternoster while she made you ache for it.”

“ _God,_ Crowley – “

Nanny decides to let this slip pass. “I don’t think She’d've cared. Open your legs wider, let me see what you’re doing.”

It’s generous confluences of white flesh, pink folds, hair even paler than on her head, the fingers working inside her. She has to stop and shudder every few strokes.

“I – can’t much longer.”

“Watch me then. Hands behind you.”

She folds back another layer of the satin inside the box. “Not something a lady _needs_ necessarily. But so you can see.”

It’s slenderer than the fat cock Aziraphale’s filled her with, curved gently, clear glass with gilded swirls and nubs along its length, a deeper ribbon of blue in its depths. The angel hadn’t been able to resist it. Nanny licks its tip and takes it between her lips – the lipstick’s the same shade as the bows, disputing with her hair – and removes it when it’s wet, spreads herself, uses it to tease the outside of her opening.

“That bit of a curve. Something a man doesn't have for you.”

It’s the distant expression Brother Francis would sometimes see when he came upon her on a bench in the Dowlings’ garden, that close to being a snake in the sun: eyes half-closed behind the round black lenses, taking time away from their vigil. There’s no change in the faraway look as the glass bauble parts her, sinks halfway before she draws it back, starts to rock it inside her.

“Now you. Come here. Learn to do it the way I like it.”

She rolls to her back as the angel bends over her, takes over the rhythm.

“A little – a little deeper. Not quite so fast. Short strokes. There.”

The pressure as she bears down a little reaches the angel’s hand, grip almost slipping. Nanny twists from side to side when she’s starting to get there, spine seeming longer than it rightly should, hips moving through planes that don’t normally exist. She’s quiet, but there’s a little sobbing sound at the intake of every breath.

“Make me come. The way you’d have made them come. Those ladies who. Didn't get to choose. You can think of them. If you want. Then I’ll. Let you.” The fangs are more prominent than they were a moment ago, denting her lower lip as her neck arches back. “Mouth. Give me your mouth while you do that inside me.”

She tastes oddly smoky, as Crowley always does, a faint peat-whisky perfume mingled with the flowers and salt of her sex. Her clit’s a little puffy currant under Aziraphale's tongue.

“ _Suck_ – make it hurt a little –right _there_ – be the right – fucking bastard you are – “

She’s got her hands in long curls of angel hair, tugging to say _come up a little_ and then yanking hard as she shouts her way through a bucking orgasm.

She shivers as the glass bauble slowly leaves her.

“Conquered by my colours, dear.”

“I'm. Not done with you.”

“No, my dear. I don’t believe you are.”

“Come up. Put us together.”

Nanny pulls at the soaked knickers as Aziraphale shifts her weight, the strained lace parting with a final snap of protest; adjusts until the angel’s plump mound is straddled against hers, lips brushing over the springy curls. The tentativeness, the bare contact, is maddening.

“Tease yourself.”

She’s got a finger hooked through that damned chain again, and it’s clear it’s starting to hurt, but it also makes the angel's hips snap as she obeys instructions. She opens herself little further against Nanny’s crotch, the most contact she can manage, wriggles and struggles for friction.

“That’s it, make yourself want it… Oh, you like this, I can tell. Making yourself strain for it. Love your penances, don’t you?” A little flick on the chain. “Lean down now, hands on my shoulders.” Another quick flick, a short tug. “Hard against me, they used to call this flat-fucking. _Le tribade_ in French, know you can’t resist your French dainties…” Nanny starts to rock back a little as the angel rubs against her, dragging her clit and the edges of her lips through the damp curls, until her breath is shaking with the need for a completion she can’t quite reach.

“Come up here, all the way.” Aziraphale grips the top rail of the headboard and whines softly as Nanny slides down between her legs and the slender, long tongue flickers under her, tracing the shapes and textures of her cunt as if memorizing them, probing the junction where the lips meet in back, outlining the sweet pucker beyond. The beardless cheek against the tender skin inside her thighs is like the brush of a silk garment.

“Don’t be afraid to move on me. Show me how fast. Or slow.” The words are muffled, but Aziraphale understands. “Don’t need to breathe. You taste so _good_ , angel, might make me come again. Do this long enough.”

The tongue winds over her clit and around it, lips closing to suck lightly. Nanny feels the pause after a long moment, the angel holding back.

“You wanna be full up, don’t you?”

A long sigh. “Yes.”

“Take this then.”

She nudges the angel off onto her side, reaches for the glass toy that’s still nearly as slick as she left it.

“Let me see you. How you want it.”

One thumb slides between lips that have gone from pink to a sunset purple, pressing against the back wall of the warm little cavern.

“So you’ll be very full. Slide it in.”

It barely fits, and she has to stop once or twice – a change of angle, a little twist. Nanny’s other thumb rests at the junction of the plump folds, between the soaked twists of pale hair.

“That’s right, just get a feel. Like being fucked, but it’s all you… That's what you like? Quick and then – mmm, slow out, that must feel good… “ Her thumb’s making lazy circles, dragging the soft flesh with it. “We’ve made you wait so long, I want to see what happens – “ Nanny’s pinkie finger catches the chain, snaps, releases, there’s a high sharp sound that isn’t even like the angel’s voice, and Nanny’s hissing “ _Yessss,_ come on now, _push into it,_ this is what it’s for – “

A split arc of liquid sprays up, spattering the jiggly thighs and the cream jacquard bedsheets and Nanny’s forearm. Another, smaller one follows. The round belly’s still trembling when Nanny dips her head to lick along her wrist, the inside of a wet thigh.

“Not the tiniest bit holy,” she hums. “Who'd've thought?”

Her fingers trail up over comfortable combers of stomach, trace the shape of the big breasts before easing the gold clips off nipples that are now full and hot to the touch. The angel sucks a sharp breath as each one lifts away.

“You said you – might go again, dear.”

The fingertips move up to comb through chaotic blonde locks. “Enjoy, angel. Another time. I’ll just store up treasure in Heaven.”

* * *

There’s faint grey light outside the window that overlooks early-morning Soho, a single glint on the brass of the bedstead; Aziraphale’s first thought is that it’s about the hour of Lauds.

Nanny’s awake before her, an odd reversal: looking down with a smile, sitting against the headboard with her arms crossed atop her raised knees.

Her hair, which was a carefully coiffed tumble of curls when they fell asleep together, is cropped short now, and instead of last night's underthings or the bare-shouldered charmeuse nightgown she favours, she’s wearing a simple lawn shift. The light’s just strong enough to see the red of her hair, the reflective amber of her eyes.

“Thought y'might like this,” she says. “Bless me? Sister Aziraphale?”

“That might hurt,” says the angel. “Just let me hold you.”

“I can do that,” says the Serpent of Eden.

* * *

The light's climbed a little higher when they come out of their doze. Nanny's freckled shoulders look curiously girlish against the straps of the white shift; the cropped head resting in Aziraphale’s bosom, the half-closed eyes could almost be those of a naive young woman.

“D’je ever find out what became of her?” Nanny asks, shifting to coil against the angel’s warmth. “The ginger one, Johanna was it?”

“Well – I did follow her career.” _Of course you did,_ thinks Crowley. “She became an Abbess eventually. I imagine that was the point of my assignment. I suppose she made the best of the life she was offered.”

“Did she ever meet Sister Aziraphale again?”

“No, dear. It wouldn’t have done. One simply hears things… Her abbey was known as a refuge. Famous for their copy work. I know she lived to a great age, and Irmgard was her companion to the end.”

“Quite the specific rumor mill for the times.”

“Well, they say that at her deathbed an angel appeared to bless her and ease her passing… I don’t know if it’s true, but she was accounted very holy. Pilgrims left cherished possessions at her tomb. It was the sort of thing that was done in the day.”

“Sentimental, angel.”

“Says the demon who’s lying there in a white nun’s shift.”

“Just goin’ with a theme. Always fashionable, me.”

“You are a very wicked, evasive creature,” says Aziraphale. “Dangling forbidden fruit in front of me, I do believe. Penances may be in order.”

“What would Sister Aziraphale suggest?”

“I’m feeling lenient.” Aziraphale strokes the cropped locks. “Let's just say a kiss."

_finis_

**Author's Note:**

> For much of the Christian era it wasn't unusual for a young woman of good family, lacking sufficient dowry or good marriage prospects, to find herself pressured into the religious life. The priory where Sister Aziraphale served might have been in Germany, or England, where Germanic proper names were common, especially in the North. There were several abbesses in the late Middle Ages and Renaissance named Johanna, one of whom eventually became a saint.
> 
> If you enjoyed, share, reblog, comment -- and come bother me on Tumblr @CopperPlateBeech


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